


"So Then We Courted the Winglord..."

by SineadRivka



Category: Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Courtship, Possibly never having a Great War, Trine-building, pre-Great War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineadRivka/pseuds/SineadRivka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skywarp is tired of Starscream not really being Trine with himself and Thundercracker, despite their status of being promised to one another. They weren't getting any younger, after all. So he decides to court the Winglord, and doesn't that just open a whole 'nuther can of turbo-foxes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"So Then We Courted the Winglord..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladydragon76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/gifts).



> The title never occurs in the story, but it certainly fits! This was the grand prize of my Tumblr giveaway when I reached a certain amount of followers, and it went to one of the authors I look up to and honestly had a squee-fest over when I saw that she chose to follow my blog. It was SUPPOSED to be 4000 words, but I absolutely overshot that while having a blast telling the Command Trine's story.
> 
> Her prompt (which I took some creative liberty with towards the end of writing it): I guess I'm leaning mostly toward Skywarp. You mentioned fluff and snuggly. How about something with Skywarp deciding that he's tired of Starscream not REALLY being part of the trine, and goes out of his way (dragging TC along for the ride of course) to show Starscream they actually do want him? Light on the angst, heavy on the silly courtship efforts. Starscream's confused because they so often act like they don't like him. Happy snuggles that are heading toward more and a fade to black at the end?

“I think he really hates us, TC.”

“. . . huh?” Thundercracker blinked up from the bookplate he had been skimming. The look of forlorn distress upon this trinemate’s face registered and he bookmarked his spot. “Who hates us, Skywarp?” Placing the bookplate upon a side table and rolling to his feet, the blue Seeker took the couple steps to settle in a crouch at his mate’s knees.

“You know who. The third member of of ‘trine.’ I think he really hates us. If he doesn’t want to be trine-bonded with us, why did he agree to our families' proposal?” Wrapping arms around legs suddenly drawn up and away from his loving mate, Skywarp curled around himself with wings dropped and drawn close to his waist. Thundercracker and Skywarp had been promised to one another since childhood, as all young Vosnian Nobility were. The original third member of their trine hadn’t made it out through his Younglinghood; Red Wing’s line had long been plagued by sensor-rot. Unfortunately, his House Elders were too stubborn to allow the younger generations mate outside of a handful of families. The hurt of the early loss of their third and close friend was healed over the many vorns of their life, but it left behind the scar of insecurity.

Thundercracker wrapped arms around his trinemate with a sigh exploding out of his vents. “Sky, he wouldn’t accept the proposal if he didn’t mean it. Starscream is Winglord now. He won the right to be a busier-than-the-Smelter variant of prick.”

“He _is_ a prick,” Skywarp giggled through his distressed sobs.

“He’s a prick and we love him.” Thundercracker stroked gentle lines along Skywarp’s back. “Or at least _like_ him pretty darn well most of the time. He thinks independently, like grounders tend to do. You _know_ that he loved spending his time at that grounder science university, and says that it’s going to help him better our trade negotiations with Iacon, Polyhex, Praxus, Tarn, and Kaon because he’s got a better grasp on their psychology. He just has to be reminded that his responsibility isn’t solely to Vos.”

Skywarp’s head snapped up, despondency forgotten. “We may be promised because of our Houses, but you’re right. He has responsibility to _us_ before he has responsibility to _Vos_.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’d go _that_ far just yet, but the importance between the two is certainly comparable. We're not all Bonded yet.” Thundercracker sat beside his purple and black mate on the lounging couch. He just wasn’t prepared to have a lapful of squirming, wiggly, happy Seeker. His cooling fans snapped to life in mid-laugh. “You fragger!” He tried to spin and get out from under the assault of fingers in places that they shouldn’t be while they were in semi-public, but all efforts were in vain.

The door to the Winglord’s receiving room swung open to admit their tri-colored mate, helm aimed down and at a datapad, optics flicking rapidly over whatever report was important enough to follow him home from his office. The tower he held audiences within was a handful of spires away and directly north of the large iris of their beautiful city. It stood in the proper position of Lord of the Nest, with optics on the colorful Seekers crossing over the deliberately-bare center of the city-state. It was where all Seekers, regardless of status, learned to fly and had their first True Flight recorded.

Starscream slowly entered, mind flying a thousand kliks an astrosecond, making his way towards the washracks before he realized what was going down not two winglengths away.

Mental airbrakes engaged. Optics slowly raised and locked upon Skywarp’s own, which were dancing with more mischief than should be legal.

The mech wasn’t pinning Thundercracker to the couch anymore, having bamfed his way out of the sitting area.

“What . . . the . . . ?”

“Welcome home, Starscream.” Thundercracker rumbled. He smiled and got to his pedes, stretching wings and back in a show of strength that not many Seekers possessed, heavy armor between his wings and over his shoulders lifting fully and resettling in a calming clatter. There was something to be said about the catch of light shimmering along the subtle depiction of high-altitude cloud striations from a mythical organic world lost to time. He caught the stray thought from Skywarp’s mind. “Care for an oil bath?”

“Yes, but . . . Wait. I thought that _you_ topped.”

Snorting a laugh, Thundercracker took the datapad from suddenly-limp fingers and rested it down on the same side-table that his own bookplate was resting. “It doesn’t matter to us, though yes, I normally top Skywarp unless he’s in the mood for something else. We like our places, but we're no one-trick tanker.” With a chuckle, he escorted Starscream to the washracks door. Steam and the scents of precious oils escaped around the closed door.

“What are you two up to?” Starscream asked warily, optics narrowing. Skywarp never left that suddenly without reason.

“Pampering _you_ for once. In you get. I can smell ozone on your turbines.”

Wincing, Starscream found himself heading into the washroom without any further prompting. The least he could do was help keep himself clean after a long, busy shift. Disturbing the other two of his potential trine was not high on the list of things he wanted to do. He hardly knew them, not the way that a trine should know each other before they Bonded. Deep in his Spark, that knowledge still ached.

Though it was eased by the time Skywarp’s clever hands were finished with his wings and turbines.

.o.

“Lord Strata, I understand that you are concerned about the influence of Grounders upon Vosnian interests, however, I am unable to grant your petition to deny them access to the lower levels.” Starscream pinched at the bridge of his olfactory ridge before indicating to an intern that he should open the door. “Unless they apply for jetpacks and attend a flight school, they do not have _any_ of the proper equipment necessary to reach above the five-story height allotment that we have given them for their imports shops, their residences, and their factories. And do not forget that many of them are Vosnian frame-cousins and offspring.”

“Praxians are _not_ frame-cousins!”

“They most certainly are, try as you might wish to deny it. Would you like to speak with your clan’s medic about your own lineage?”

“You--”

Starscream wove his fingers together and rested his chin upon them in a study of arrogantly bored indifference. “Or, perhaps if you are so disgusted by the Praxian population in Vos, you could sell your vacation estate in Praxus. I’m sure that their nobility would be more than happy to reclaim that historical site that you have been attempting to conceal. Besides which, you _clearly_ know the facts of life when it comes to making bitlets, as you have sired no less than a handful of illegitimate Grounder Sparklings who are hidden away in said estate. Unless, of course, you wish to bequeath the Praxian land to your equally-Praxian paramour who is currently listed as your estate manager?”

“I have never been treated such in my entire life!”

Standing from his chair and walking around the desk, the pinched tones of Vosnian dialect grew sharper from the Seeker Lord. "Is that a formal challenge to my title and my right to rule this city?"

Lord Strata's wings instantly lowered to a submissive state, hands turning palm-out at hips and head lowered and tilted enough to show the main energon line to his higher processor. "No, Winglord. No. Forgive me."

“You were pampered by my predecessor. I fail to see how that has profited Vos. Get out. Intern Knockout will show you to the balcony. I expect to see your notice of retirement as tomorrow's orn dawns.” Turning away from the spluttering scene, the Seeker Winglord moved back towards his desk, only to find his chair occupied by an unrepentant trinemate. Well, _almost_ trinemate. Knockout, a grounder with a Seeker Spark and a jetpack-assisted flight license, closed the door to the Winglord’s stateroom firmly, making sure that there wouldn’t be any others sneaking in while Starscream was busy with the other Seeker.

“Skywarp?”

The Seeker glanced down at the crystal-topped desk, then coyly back up at his Winglord. Starscream followed his glance, ventilations catching as he saw the small platter of Energon treats carefully arranged in a _very_ specific pattern. Looking back up to his chair, Starscream wasn’t shocked to see that it was empty. That tease.

Moving around to where he would normally seat himself, Starscream looked down at the lovers’ platter with conflicting emotions. The corner of small note fluttered in the crossbreeze of his office, the glyph of affection pinned down by a Spark-blue gummy. The informal shorthand signatures of both Skywarp and Thundercracker were pinned by two gels that perfectly matched the enameling of their wings. Why would they do this? They were promised to one another since they could barely toddle to their Carriers. He was the interloper, needed only to round out their Trine, as Seeker Sparks needed two connections, two unique Bonds, in order to survive beyond their three-thousandth vorn. All three were in their late two-thousands, edging closer to the year that would begin Spark deterioration. This gift, this motion, confused him without any real reason as to _why_ it should confuse him.

He was only pledged-Trine to the brightest (and most energetic) archivist and the perfect warrior because his Nest Elder paid dearly for the alliance, and paid the families equally as much to make sure that their creations didn't know that they were the ones being used to rid a House of an unwanted member, rather than being partially-disgraced due to a third House's poor breeding. If they ever made it to a true Bond, that knowledge would be theirs as well, and Starscream wasn’t sure what he thought about that just yet. But until that point, it was his burden to bear alone.

Starscream never _had_ a potential trine. He was an unwanted bitlet, a surprise creation that weakened his Carrier for vorns after his separation. He was sent out of the city as soon as his Carrier, not even a Bonded Carrier to his Sire, had passed into Primus' arms. His years at Iacon's universities were among the happiest of his life, but also the most confusing, as he had to learn not to take offense from (or offend!) so many mechs who did not understand the nuances of Vosnian culture. Gounders and non-Seekers were curious and wonderful mechs. All were brilliant and varied in their talents. He admired the large Interstellar Shuttles for their sheer _strength_ , able to break free from atmosphere at will. And many grounders admired him, as it was rare to see a singular Seeker outside of Vos, no Trinemates with them, no mentoring Trine to guide them. He was protected by a cadre of friends whose minds weren't the only sharp objects in their possession.

And then . . . Skywarp and Thundercracker had been considered almost a disgrace because their third died young, dishonoring not just his own house's choice in mates, but their own houses. It was no small thing when a trine was formed to show the strength of the houses that were coming to unite their young.

Sitting heavily, he picked up a pink Energon gel and let it dissolve over his glossa. It was rich in flavor with a tingling he associated with precious metals dancing their way towards the back of his mouth. It was far more than what he anticipated. They were from ranking families, of course, but their tastes never ran towards the obscenely expensive in the ephemeral matters.

Looking down at the tray, a slow dawning broke over his active mind. What if . . . he wasn’t an actual interloper in their Bond? Because they _were_ Bonded to one another, romantically attached and enthusiastically so. He always gave them their privacy when he came home from his duties late at night, and their cries of passion tore at his Spark in ways he didn't want to acknowledge.

But . . . what if they really _did_ want him as a romantic, possibly _Bonded_ , third?

Starscream bowed his helm and threw his attention along his memory, trying to recall all the old ways ways that Seekers could petition and promise themselves to potential Trinemates.

.o.

“He ate it, he ate it!” Skywarp twirled on the tip of his pede, laughing and falling backwards onto the couch. “TC, you should have seen his face! He ate the pink one first, like you said he would, and then it was like the Prime had paid him a surprise visit! His expression! He loved it! And then he looked like he wanted to cry, but I’m not sure what that’s all about.” Tapping a finger against pursed lips, Skywarp danced to his pedes and began pacing.

Thundercracker was grinning broadly. “Did he finish eating the gift?”

“Not that I saw, but his intern kept turning people away until he personally started to accept them. He was distracted, but I couldn’t keep still much longer, so I came back.” The Seeker was almost prancing in the free space around the receiving room, giggling before flopping on his belly beside a smiling Thundercracker. "So. What should we do next, my wonderful?"

"First, we have to identify _why_ he isn't engaging us as Trine-potential." The blue mech smiled and stroked the face and helm of his silly, sweet Bondmate who didn’t believe that he didn’t have a plan. Him! Skywarp! Not have a plan? Good Primus below, but Thundercracker was thick as a brick. "But I am not sure how exactly we should go-"

The door chimed, startling the Seekers. Only a few mechs were allowed to this level, and of those few mechs, most landed upon the guest balcony to await their hosts’ attention. Rising, they quickly checked themselves over to ensure a proper appearance, polished each other’s Winglord’s Trine sigils, then pinged a command to open the door, all within the span of a couple Spark-pulses.

A grounder stood before them, a gentle smile upon his civillian face.

Beside him, half-leaning against the doorframe, a confident military-style flight build met their gazes with a peaceful, neutral expression that hid none of the little scars and weld-patches spoke of his ferocity.

Names and faces finally connected and wings shot up with shock, while both mechs bowed deferentially to their superiors: the Prime and the Protectorate. "My Lords! It is an honor! Please, enter!"

"We apologize for the surprise visit," Optimus Prime murmured, striding into their receiving room, Lord Megatron upon his heels. They were still considered newly Bonded at five vorns together. "Is the Winglord in?"

"We regret to inform you that he is still at his office, Lord Prime," Skywarp indicated the large couch for the rulers of Cybertron to sit upon. A brave servant entered with the best Vosnian high grade currently stocked in their suite. "Shall we call him to your audience?"

"No, let him continue with his duties. This is not between Cybertron’s ruler and Vos’ Winglord, and I should have specified that earlier."

Megatron's voice rumbled to the fore. "We wish to simply get to know the new leaders of our generation, mech to mech. Titles can be left at the door."

"Oh, so you're here as Optimus and Megatron, then?" Skywarp commed the servant, asking him to bring another sectional couch from the storage rooms a floor below their habitation suite. "Not as Prime and Protectorate?"

Both nodded, and Skywarp let out a rush through his vents. "Oh good!" letting himself settle on a low ottoman, limbs clattering without much thought for coordination, he grinned up at the mechs. "Because we have a few questions about courting a Bondmate." Thundercracker groaned and rested his face in his palms, grinning behind them at his Bondmate’s tenacity. "And perhaps you can help us find out why Starscream might feel reluctant about joining our Trine."

Thundercracker looked over his fingers to judge how much of an apology he would have to make for Skywarp, only to see red and blue optics softening and smiling. He took to a stool while the servants worked around them, hearing the story of the courtship between two mechs, total strangers, who were chosen for each other and to lead their society. It took some time to tell, but was well worth the laughs, the sympathy of misread cues, and the warmth of seeing their Bond settled and working well.

Optimus spared him a quick comm, _:This is not only a pleasure visit, Thundercracker. I felt my Spark pressed to visit Vos, but had no idea why until Skywarp started unloading on us. Primus hears you; we shall help you and your Trine. Please do not feel that you are a burden to us.:_

Shortly after, all four mechs were treated to the sight of Starscream landing with perfect posture upon the balcony with what looked like three small cubes of Kaonite high grade in a small bag, only to almost drop it at the sight of their guests. He looked down at his three cubes, looked back up at the four mechs within, and said, "Should I find two more, my Lords? Or should I kick the both of you out for the surprise visit?"

His potential Trinemates looked scandalized, but Megatron threw his head back for a bellowing laugh, Optimus' chuckle riding underneath the expression of mirth. "No, not necessary! Save those for a night alone with your Trine! Well met, Starscream; how much stupidity did you have to endure this orn to produce such candor?"

"Primus. The old Lords are only kept from challenging my right as Winglord by knowing that I will dominate them in the skies without even a moment's preparation." Taking a seat across from the Bonded rulers, Starscream accepted a simple cube of energon from Skywarp, optics widening when the scents of various metals and elements meant to entice, tease, and arouse hit his olfactory system. His optics locked upon Skywarp's, feeling rather than noticing Thundercracker's half-lidded gaze take in their interaction.

He, of course, drank a sip without losing Skywarp's attention, wings vibrating when the full thrill of drinking a courtship toast before an audience hit his processors.

Optimus chuckled gently, not even a hint of anything offensive in the sound. "Should we go?"

"Stay?" Skywarp entreated. "I would like to ask your opinion on some matters regarding the Iaconian Hall of Records."

"If you insist."

Megatron smiled at the young Winglord, reassuring Optimus through their Bond. The young Trine-to-be would be fine, if matters progressed in they way they were now.

.o.

"Skywarp, no, I'm sorry, I have a meeting with the House Lords of the Southern quarter." Starscream tried valiantly to get one step closer to the balcony, his hands unsure where to go. Skywarp was hanging onto him in an embrace.

And was beginning to pout. "But we want to have our morning Energon with you! This is too early of a meeting for the Winglord."

"N-no, it's a breakfast meeting. It has to be early. It's a tradition for their Houses! I can't be late, Skywarp, _please_!" Desperation caused his turbines to spin in anxiety. "We need their full support!"

"Reschedule it! Other Winglords have done that!"

In retrospect, Skywarp realized that might not have been the best thing to say. Starscream _bristled_ and jerked free. "I am _not_ other Winglords!"

It took the black and purple Seeker a moment to realize that the door had shattered with Starscream's force of actually, literally, blasting free out of his arms and out of the room in one perfect motion.

"Skywarp?" Thundercracker's deep voice was soft velvet to the archivist's raw nerves. "Sky, love, you're bleeding."

Looking down at his arms, Skywarp sighed at the sight of rivulets of energon trickling to his fingertips. "Why am I doing this to myself, TC? Why do I want him to be part of _us_ so badly?" A hiccuped sob escaped him before he could silence himself.

Warm hands began wiping up the small mess. Thundercracker had seen the entire exchange, knowing that Starscream didn't mean to hurt Skywarp. The mech was still unused to much of the decoration his frame had been upgraded with, which slowed him only marginally in the air and gave several new sharp edges that still left rents in the upholstery. "Because his Spark fits with ours. He is a good mate, a good leader. But he is flawed, just in different ways than I am flawed, and different than how you are flawed. And I think he still hurts from his House's rejection but doesn't want to hope for something he feels he doesn't deserve. I don’t know the extent of their rejection, but . . . I feel your want for him fully matching my want for him, even at his most difficult."

"We want a full trine."

"Yes. Us. In his Spark with him. And he in our Sparks with us."

"What are we going to do?"

"Forgive him, this one time. He takes his office too seriously for us to tease him right now. But we will talk about his reactions when we are not emotional about this issue."

“We?”

“Yes, my Spark, we. I’m disappointed and angry with him, but I can understand his fears.”

“You’re shielding from me.”

“Yes. Just for a moment until I calm myself.”

“Okay.”

A medic arrived with a reassuring smile, silently getting to work on the quick fixes. He was a trusted friend of theirs from their first days of flight academy, showing a Spark trait for calm within a panicked group. Another young flier had gotten an aileron shorn clear off, needing help to land. Northstar had stayed with the little bitlet, talking with him and snuggling when the pain was too much to do much more than keen.

"I'll apologize tonight," Skywarp whispered. "I always forget how serious some mechs are." He leaned into the soothing strokes across his helm and back.

But he never got the chance to. A hand-written note accompanied a basket that was simply brimming with Skywarp's favorite comfort items: organic cloth blankets and chamois. Not too much later, the courier returned with a small box, within which a miniature Praxian crystal garden was carefully kept from the elements of flight. Skywarp set it upon a countertop and spent half of the afternoon staring at it from different angles. An architect arrived with a glass artist to measure and create a new door to the balcony on the spot. It was stained glass, using some of the original shards around the edges, but a sunburst cast bright colors across the floor in some of Skywarp’s favored shades. The colors could even be diffused with a databurst, which turned it into a simple clear design defined by the metal holding the glass in place.

When Starscream returned home, he apologized in low tones for his irritation, for unintentionally harming his mate, and for running. He stood submissive to Thundercracker and Skywarp entirely. And he feared that he was going to be rejected, just like TC had anticipated. He didn't expect Skywarp to snuggle up to him again, murmuring an apology for the teasing, and forgiving him for all his worries. Misunderstandings happened; it was how they got through the problem that counted. He was careful to heed the thunderous warning from the military-built Seeker, locking it into his processors. He would not repeat his mistakes. He could never do that to these two Sparks, never again. He couldn’t deal with the hurt and fear again.

.o.

Almost a vorn passed, and any ground lost was regained in spades. 

"So. He liked them?"

"I believe so. He didn't unfold any, but picked up the spare that I couldn't fit into the design." Skywarp leaned back with a smile. He felt good about the latest delivery of lovers' courting gifts to Starscream. A set of organic polishing cloths folded into the shape of an old courting nest. "I can't wait until he arrives home to us. He's delightful; I love spoiling him."

Thrusters, the unusually-quiet whine of the Winglord's own unique outfit, cut out at the soft double-tap of pedes effortlessly walking to a halt from a full flight.

“Starscream?” Thundercracker stood at the noise, wings relaxed. “I thought you would still be in your office. This is early for you to come home.”

Skywarp’s half of their Bond was bouncing in glee that Starscream was home early. It would make his surprises all the more wonderful and spontaneous!

“The rest of my appointments are easily rescheduled or delegated. I have been in office long enough to have seen all the most important and immediate of petitioners.” And indeed, the list was almost a vorn long. The Winglord remained in the shadows before edging his way into their rooms, almost shyly.

The action was so out of character for him that Skywarp and Thundercracker stilled in shock.

Glyphs.

Formal, iridescent, painstakingly-drawn glyphs seemed to be holding the mech together, while his optics darted between his almost-Trinemates, betraying that he was coming apart at the seams. He took their stillness not as the appreciation that it was, but rather the rejection he feared most, and shoulders immediately hunched. Wings folded close, and he moved to go, a silent apology already transmitted to them for intruding.

“Wait!”

Miracle of miracles, the Winglord froze.

Skywarp took a step after Starscream, hand outstretched as he began reading the ancient texts winding their way up from thrusters and around those deliciously-sculpted thighs that he was hoping to stop dreaming about and start experiencing soon otherwise Thundercracker was going to kick him out of their berth _again_ and dear _Primus_ the glyph-set for devotion and continued adoration was just barely above pelvic plating and traveling up and up to see _faith-hope-dreams-yours_ resting over the centerline of thoracic armor and then _freedom_ on the left wing and _safety_ on his right and Primus below but he was gorgeous and their choice of a third mate was _perfect_ for him to respond like this and oh, he looked so scared and alone and that wasn’t right for him to look like that when he was _here_ , he was _wanted_ , he was _welcome_. . .

Starscream didn’t know if he should run from the slowly-approaching Skywarp, but the adoration clear upon the black and purple mech’s face kept him from diving off of their balcony.

“Starscream . . . welcome home.” Skywarp reached up, fingertips brushing over Starscream’s right hand, turning it to see the glyph denoting _promise_.

Blue hands, lighter than Starscream’s, turned the other hand over just as gently to reveal . . .

A blank palm.

Blank, because of need to keep each glyph pristine and how can you do _that_ without smudging one when you’re using the hand to write?

He looked up sharply, making optic contact briefly before Starscream looked away. 

“You . . . _you_ wrote these yourself, Starscream?”

“It’s . . . yes. I-I did. Old tradition. I mean this. Us. I want to see _us_ succeed . . . _together_. I . . . No. I’m sorry. I am intruding and--”

“You hush your mouth right there. You’re _not_ intruding. We _invited_ you, we _love_ you. We haven’t known each other as long, but you . . . you _belong_ with us,” Skywarp whispered, fingertips tracing along a cheek then down his neck . . .

Thundercracker jerked his mind away from Skywarp’s with a grin, swatting at the roaming fingertips before they could cloud their third’s mind. “Starscream, do you want us as Trine?”

“Yes!” he breathed, leaning closer, optics offlining as three helms came to rest together. “More than anything. More than success. More than my title as Winglord. I _only_ desired that title so that I could give back to you both all that you have gifted _me_ with.”

“And if we said that we don’t care about the trappings of wealth or the status that Winglord’s Trine brings us?” Skywarp whispered. “Would you leave it if we asked it of you?”

It took the young mech some time to find his answer, but had he replied swiftly, they would have rejected it. “If you and Thundercracker needed me more than Vos needs me, and another Winglord could be found and trained, I would leave it all behind if it meant I could keep your Sparks close to mine until Primus calls for us.”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Skywarp squealed like a Youngling and bounced around in a circle, leaving Thundercracker to hold Starscream's hand and smile fondly. "Shall we?" He tugged lightly towards their private (and rarely-used) lounging room, away from the balcony any any prying optics. "I enjoy this. I want to trace every glyph with my own fingertips. But, Skywarp will agree, I am a jealous lover, and I refuse to allow anyone except for Trine too see you as you are, showing everyone what you are promising to us. I suppose that is warning enough. Can you accept my protection within our Trine?"

The growling register that the mech's voice reached left a shiver across white wings. Starscream realized he was nodding. His code was instinctively reacting to the strong Seeker before him. Starscream was a leader; Thundercracker was a warrior; Skywarp was an archivist-historian. They just _fit_.

"I accept your protection. I accept Skywarp's knowledge. Can you accept my leadership?"

"We accept your leadership," the twain chorused, voices complimenting each other perfectly.

They stood in a breathless silence.

Skywarp _giggled_. "We're like cute virgins." And then he was gone from the room. Starscream heard him moving furiously in the berthroom to make a nest for three out of the two separate nests. But that was all he had thought for before Thundercracker's mouth claimed his own, hands wrapping almost entirely around his slim waist to curl their frames closer, wingtips just barely brushing against each other and sending shivers down his spine.

A groan was muffled against his lover's mouth and Starscream found himself being backed up through the door, guided carefully to the berth, and--

Well, he gave up thinking as soon as the glyph for _safety_ on his wing was worshipped by Thundercracker's glossa.


End file.
